


Who Drowned Marco Bodt?

by CURUS



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Drinking, M/M, Past Character Death, Past Drowning, Technically because Marco's already dead, artist!jean, ghost!Marco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5196437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CURUS/pseuds/CURUS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year ago, a body was found floating in the Stohess river. Dead from drowning, Marco Bodt's death was considered a tragic accident when drugs and alcohol were found in his system and friends had reported that he was last seen at a party. </p><p>A year later, Jean Kirschstein is working after having graduated college two years earlier. He's decently content, until he wakes up one morning and his life begins to take a strange turn. Mysterious puddles, hushed whispers of a boy who drowned, and footsteps in the hallway. And then there's that mysterious guy with no shoes and drenched in water. Yet nobody else seems to notice... </p><p>People still wonder: What happened to Marco Bodt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Drowned Marco Bodt?

“God dammit, not again…”

It’s 8 in the morning and already I’m having a crap day. I’m standing next to my bed in nothing my boxers and glaring at my bed as if it just murdered my mother and spit on her grave. More specifically, I am glaring at the huge wet stain taking over the entire right side of my bed. The sheets, mattress, and even the god damn pillow are completely soaked as if someone just poured water over that entire side. Annoyed and pissed, I turn my glare upward, looking for some water stain or drip from the asshole upstairs. Sure, my apartment is old and isn’t the most perfect building in Stohess, but there shouldn’t be a leak that can make wet spots  _this fucking huge._  To my surprise, though, there isn’t a single leak hanging above my bed. It’s completely dry.

 _‘Then why the fuck is my bed fucking_ wet _?’_

This does so little to make my day any better. I have work in two hours, I need a shower, and now I have to probably wash everything because who the fuck  _knows_  what it is that’s on my bed and mattress. I rip everything off my bed and, as expected, the moisture has completely reached down into the mattress. I ball everything up, not even daring to touch the wet spots and toss it into the laundry basket, “Fucking shit. I can’t believe this, man.” I can’t do any laundry now, not with my shift coming up. Better to just save it until I’m done with work, come home, and get it thrown into one of the washing machines in the basement.

I lose almost an hour of my morning just scrubbing my mattress until I consider it clean enough and let it dry. My shower ends up being way too short and right now I am hoping my shift is easy today. I do not need more shit on top of this…

* * *

 

 Remember how I said I wanted an easy shift? Yeah, I’m laughing too.

The café is a fucking zoo and unfortunately my shift includes the lunch rush where people come to eat or the local college kids come to fuel themselves with caffeine while they cram homework and essays into their little suffering heads. I do not envy them. Two years ago, that was me, and now I’m free as a bird with a slightly crappy job and a web comic in the works. No essays for this guy here.

I could gloat all day, but I’m still pissy about my morning. Even as I’m filling orders, making drinks, and serving tables, I keep trying to figure out why my bed was wet this morning. If there wasn’t a leak, then where did the mess come from? It sure as Hell couldn’t have been from me, I didn’t wet the bed and I do not remember spilling anything last night.

“Excuse me! Waiter!” Some woman shouts for me, hand in the air and her powdered face in an ugly scowl, “If I don’t get something to drink here, I’m gonna  _die_!”

Wiping the counter down quickly, I roll my eyes and tie the rag to my apron, “You promise?” I muttered under my breath, earning a quiet snicker from Ymir who is making an espresso beside me. Glad that my snide remarks aren’t getting me an ass whooping, I stroll over to the woman’s table with my pen and pad, “Sorry for the wait, ma’am.” You’re not the only one here, lady, “What would you like to order?” She makes her order – with her same exaggerated tone – and I just nod, trying to look as if her attitude isn’t bothering me. Is all this really worth the money? Unfortunately, yes, because I’m a starving artist who needs to pay rent.

“Hey Ymir, can I get a lemonade brought out here?” Whatever she shouts back I can’t really understand but I hope to God she actually gets that lemonade so I can avoid another dramatic complaint from that woman. While I’m getting a tray ready, I glance down to the floor and stop completely, “What the hell…?” To my surprise, there’s a puddle. A big puddle. Right in the middle of the floor by the front counter where I’m standing. “Ymir, did somebody spill their drink again?” I call for her without looking away from the puddle.

The door to the kitchen swings open like a hurricane threw it open and my tall freckled coworker comes out with a few drinks. She looks about as pissed as I was this morning as she nearly slams the glass down on the counter, “Far as I know, no. But if somebody fucking did I’m going to kick someone out.” I’m actually afraid for the well-being of whatever poor customer that made this mess. I may have a crappy temper but Ymir can actually  _act_  on her threats. “Just fucking mop it up and get to work, Jeanbo. We’re getting swamped today. I’ll take the lemonade to Miss Prissy, kay?” She doesn’t give me a chance to say anything before she just stomps off and part of me feels a little sorry for the lady.

I get the mop out of the storage closet and put up the wet floor sign before I start mopping. From where I stand, it’s just water, but it’s a pretty big puddle. I’m starting to think that it wasn’t a spill, though. There’s no glass or even any ice cubes.  _‘Maybe my morning leak followed me to work…’_  I think sarcastically, rolling my eyes at my own thoughts. I think if that were the case I would have to consult some kind of voodoo priest of something because that is some black magic bullshit.

“I can’t believe it’s already been a year.”

“I know. That poor family must be so depressed around this time. I mean, can you imagine how it must feel? Finding your own son dead in the river-“

“ _Sshh_! Not so loud! Someone will hear you.”

I stop mopping completely and turn around to the table with two women sitting together. I heard them right, didn’t I? Something about a kid in the river? One of them glances over at me and immediately gives her friend a nasty look along with a swat to the arm, “I told you!” she hisses in a harsh whisper before giving me a quick smile as if trying to reassure me that what I heard was just my imagination. Dead kid in the river… Did something like that really happen?

“Kirschstein! Back to work!”

“Yes, ma’am!” I answer immediately to Rico’s shout. You never want to be on the receiving end of Rico’s wrath…

The lunch rush drags on until it finally slows down to a trickle at around 2 in the afternoon. I’ve worked here since my junior year of college, picking up the job whenever I was on break. Rico liked me when I first started working that summer and when classes started up she was okay with giving me a lighter shift schedule until winter, and I kept that routine up until graduation. When it became hard to find a stable job after college, she let me work here again and I’ve been one of her best. My temper may have gotten on her nerves occasionally but I managed to keep my job, and that’s all that mattered. I’ve finally adjusted to the flow of things and everything’s just second-nature now. It’s probably how I’m able to handle these rush hours, actually.

During the rush, I kept hearing the same whispers, though. The kid that drowned in the river. There was always at least one table whispering about it, like it was some secret that apparently everybody knew about. Except me, of course. It was always the same thing though.

_‘It’s already been a year…’_

_‘Do you think the family is okay?’_

_‘How sad. They just found him floating there.’_

_‘That poor mother. He was her oldest son.’_

_‘It must have been so painful for them.’_

They never said names. They always hushed themselves before they got too far into the details, immediately looking around as if somebody was eavesdropping (and some of them may have caught me trying to listen in. One woman gave me a nasty glare for it. Women and I never seem to see eye to eye.)

With things slowed down, Ymir and I are keeping busy with clean up while Rico works the front counter. We have a few customers but it’s more relaxed now. Just some people stopping for a quick bite or a drink. I’m sweeping up under some of the tables when I stop and look around. Nobody’s near me except Ymir and all those conversations from the lunch rush are still playing in my head. “Ymir.” She doesn’t look up from her phone, leaning against the broom in her hand while scrolling whatever is on her screen, “Ymir.” When I call a little louder she finally looks up, one brow raised in questioning, “You hear all those whispers during lunch?”

“Oh, you mean about the Bodt kid?” Unlike me, Ymir talks in her normal tone, not really giving two shits if somebody hears her. She looks back to her phone but at least keeps the conversation going with me, “Yeah, people are still hopped up on his case. The family always goes quiet around this time, everybody just seems to like the gossip at this point.” I watch her pocket her phone and she goes back to sweeping the floor around her.

Our roles reverse and now I’m the one standing around while she cleans up. The broom is in both my hands and my hands tighten and wring the handle of it as I watch her, “So…what happened?” Ymir pauses for a few seconds, maybe a second too long before she sighs and stops sweeping again. The look she’s giving me makes me want to fidget a little more. Ymir’s never been the type to let you know what she’s thinking, and right now I’m having a hard time reading her expression.

“Last year, some early morning joggers found a body in the Stohess River.” Ymir sounds so serious that I feel like I’m being told a story that I should never dare forget, like a shard of important history, and I guess to some people that’s what this is. “It was a college kid. Some senior English student. Anyway, he drowned and they found him in the river. His body drifted down stream until it snagged in some of the rocks and they found in there.” Even though she sounds so grim, she still shrugs her shoulders as if it’s all nothing, “Pretty sad, really. But what can anybody do?” And just like that, Ymir goes back to work and leaves me with this rain cloud over my head.

“Wait, so… It was an accident or what? And who was the kid?”

Ymir sighs like she’s just tired of all my questions, “His name was Marco Bodt. A lot of people say it was suicide but the police considered it an accident. There, ya’ happy now, Seabiscuit?” She sounds a lot more hostile than I feel she really should be, but with the way the day has been I try not to judge her tone too much. Besides, she answered my questions and I guess that’s more than enough.

Unfortunately, now I have that on my mind. Specifically, the name Marco Bodt. How did I not know about that? I was here last year. I should have heard something. And yet, here I am, completely lost to it all.

“Jean, what the hell!? I told you to mop the spill up?!”

“What the  _fuck_?!”

* * *

 

There is a curse of some kind placed on me. In the last two hours of my shift, I had to clean up five different spills, all of them giant puddles of water. I’m being reminded of that stupid leak in my apartment and I am both pissed and somewhat concerned. I mean, it's like water is just following me everywhere. And the annoying part is that it's always  _me_  that has to clean it. Not Ymir. Not Rico. Nobody except poor Jean fucking Kirschstein. And on top of it all, I was plagued with the murmurs of that Marco kid. Everybody was on it like white on rice. All of them sympathetic for the family and asking what happened only to end up back at the initial conclusion: An accident from a depressed and potentially suicidal college guy who couldn't handle life and decided to get shit-faced and doped up at a party. They all agreed in the end: Marco Bodt was looking for a way out and ended up getting just that, whether he wanted it or not. And then, everybody did a full circle and went right back to feeling bad for the kid's family. As if they really fucking cared. They're all just looking for fresh fruit on the grapevine to hold them over until the next juicy topic washes over this shit-town. 

Still, I do feel bad about that kid. And I mean genuinely bad. Sure, I didn't  _know_  the guy (at least, I think I didn't know him. The name doesn't ring a bell, at least) but how can I not feel bad? Seriously, a guy ready to graduate college just dying alone in the river, and his family having to accept that. It's depressing, really. Really depressing... 

"You look like your dog just died, Jeanbo. Something eating you?" How can Ymir still be so relaxed after what she told me? Even she got worked up over the story, so how is she able to just sit here and drink coffee like our conversation never happened? "Jeeeanboooo. Hey! Your fucking staring is creeping me the hell out." 

I shake my head and hang my apron up on the hook by the door to the back room, "Sorry... Just thinking." Thinking is putting it lightly. I'm tired and ready to crash at home and try and forget the name Marco Bodt. I scratch my crappy undercut and make sure that the mop and wet-floor sign is back in storage closet before I go to clock out, tapping on the touch screen of the register. 

"Yeah, whatever, Horseface." I ignore Ymir's nickname for me and let her drink the last of her black coffee while I finish clocking out. As she sets down the paper cup for the to-go drinks, she nods her head in my direction, "And don't forget your tips for today. You leave them in the jar again and I swear that I'll take them for myself." Ah, right. My tips. The one good thing about lunch rush: We get a little more tips than usual. One whole shift on my feet for a few dollars and some change that can barely pay for a quick bite that tides me over until I can throw something together at home. I grab my tips and shove them into my pocket before walking out from behind the counter. "Later, Horseface." I grunt in response and go for the door, throwing a wave over my shoulder for added measure to let her know I heard her. 

"Tell Krista I said hey." I tack that on to my departure before I walk out the door and into the outside world. Stohess is getting colder now that it's the middle of the fall season. October is pretty tolerable, not like November or December when the weather gets really brutal. It's just enough to give a chill in your bones in the later afternoon. As long as nobody is out at night, then the weather is tolerable. But after sunset, Stohess can be merciless. 

_'Last year, some early morning joggers found a body in the Stohess River.'_

Early morning, huh? That kid must have been trailing the waters all night, or just snagged and was there the entire time. Either way, I can't imagine how painful it must have been. It was on this day last year that he was found. The water must have been so cold. If he didn't drown, then he definitely would have frozen to death. Man...Brutal. 

The weather just reminds me more and more of Ymir's story and I shake myself to get rid of the discomfort. I can't get hung up on it all now. It's sad, but what can I do? They already said it was just an accident, and nothing anybody says or does can really change much. With a roll of my shoulders, I let out a breath and shake myself out of these thoughts before digging out my earbuds, popping them in and scrolling through my phone for some music. Once I hear the Mystery Jets playing in my ears, I let out a small sigh and start walking, hugging myself a little to keep warm. 

Stohess has been pretty decent to me. I guess. I graduated from the college here after moving from Trost and I haven't left since then. My mom wasn't too crazy about my staying, but what can she do? I made friends and when I found out that Connie and Sasha were here too, I made the decision to stick around. I didn't make many friends during college, but whatever. I didn't need a huge flock following me around to be happy. What I have now is fine for me. Connie and Sasha have enough energy for a lifetime. 

As I'm walking, I get a little tangled up in the go-home crowd and I have to adjust to the flow. Stopping at the corner, I press the button for the crosswalk and shove my hands in my pockets, watching the light and waiting for it to change, music still playing and silencing the world. A yawn comes out of my mouth, a long one that has me covering my mouth and making my eyes water. My vision is blurry and I blink a few time to clear things up, reaching up and wiping the tears, too. "...Hm?" Wait, what? Am I seeing things? 

No, I definitely am not. I'm seeing this. 

Across the street from me, in the other small crowd waiting to cross over here, I see someone a little off the side. A guy that's young just like me. He has dark hair, dark skin with freckles, and...These big brown eyes. He's wearing a purple V-neck shirt and zip-up black hoodie with some jeans. And...He’s not wearing shoes. A chill shoots up my spine the moment he looks at me. 

He's dripping wet. 

Seriously, he's soaked from head to toe. Isn't he fucking cold? I'm completely dry and dressed in a damn jacket with a long sleeve and I'm  _still_  freezing my tits off. What the hell is wrong with this guy? He's just asking for Life to give him pneumonia or some shit like that. The Autumn Film starts playing and my mouth opens to shout at this crazy person, but the crowds start moving before I can even say anything. "H-Hey!" Some people nudge me aside and I try to see if that guy is coming this way. 

"Move it, asshole!" 

"Hey, fuck you!" I quickly spit to the ass who pushes me to the side before turning and looking for that guy, but all I see is the fading crowd and no sign of that drenched guy. "What...?" I'm confused as I stay standing there on the corner, looking for the guy who was standing across the street. I know I saw him. I know there was some guy standing there with no shoes and dripping wet. I mean, I'm not dreaming am I? He was there! I know it. He was there...wasn't he? 

The crosswalk turns from green to red. 

* * *

 

Even when I'm home, I'm still feeling out of sorts. I kept looking for that guy the entire way to my apartment but he was gone. It was so weird. And nobody else even reacted to him. Seriously, how could they ignore someone who's drenched and walking around without shoes? Was he just one of the students who had a crap day with some upperclassmen? Maybe he's one of those homeless kids. Well, he didn't look homeless. I mean, excluding the whole shoeless thing, he looked pretty normal, just like anybody else. Then who was he? 

"Man, I'm losing my shit today..." I mumble to myself, finally stopping my music and cutting off The Neighborhood as I come up to my apartment door. After disconnecting my headphones and wrapping those up carefully, I start looking for my keys, patting down my pockets. When I find them, my phone starts to ring, "Aw shit, that's probably Connie..." I mutter, bringing my phone back out as I shake my keys and find the right one. Hitting answer, I unlock my door with one hand and hold my phone with the other, "What's up?" 

"Hey Jean! I'm just calling to see if you still want me to come over? I just got off work and I'm swinging by Sasha's place to pick her up." Connie's voice is quite the relief for some reason. I guess today has been so off that even his voice and offer of company is better than what I've been hearing all day.

"Yeah, sure. I just have to do a little bit of laundry. I just got home, actually." I toss my keys onto the counter with a loud clang and start taking off my jacket after turning on the heat. Feels good to be out of the cold. "Should I make dinner for three?" Why did I just ask that? Like I'd really cook for those two. Sasha eats enough for the three of us alone and I really doubt that I have enough stuff in the fridge to feed her stomach. 

"No, it's cool, man! We were actually going to pick up some Chinese for all of us. Sasha's been having some mad cravings for their cream cheese wontons." Oh, I believe it. But hey, free food is great. I won't complain. "We'll be over soon. Oh! And I've got my sketches for the comic with me, so I'll bring those by too." 

"Alright. I'll see you two later." 

Done with the conversation, I have to tackle my next obstacle: The laundry from this morning. The mattress dried up pretty well, so all that's left is the sheets and blankets. They're still in the basket, so I just pick it up and start hauling it with me to the laundry room at the bottom of the building. I grab everything I need and toss it into the basket too before heading for the door. I doubt Connie will call me again, so I just leave my phone on the coffee table. 

 

"Yo, Kirschstein!" My shit is in the dryer when Connie comes stomping down into the lower floor from the ground level, a huge paper bag in his grip as he pokes his head into the laundry room, "Sasha and I are gonna head up to your place. Do we need the key or are we going to have to break the door down?" I suppress a groan at the memory of the time when they nearly tore my door down when they came over drunk off their asses. The building owner was so damn pissed that I nearly lost my apartment completely. At least they paid to fix my door. 

Digging in my pockets, I pull out my keys and throw them to Connie, "Set up the food and fire up the Playstation so you guys can watch Netflix or something." If they don't have any entertainment then they might break something expensive, "Oh, and there's drinks in the fridge, too. Help yourselves. I'll be done with this shit soon." Connie takes the keys and his brown bag and mock-salutes me before running back upstairs, leaving me to finish up with the dryer. 

Once the machine buzzes, I check to see if everything has dried well. Feeling that everything is warm, I start folding the blankets so I can throw in the sheets. The door to the laundry room opens and someone comes in. I hear them coming toward the washing machines and I just keep doing what I'm doing. "Excuse me, but did you make that mess?" Mess? I turn around and find a tiny red haired woman looking up at me while holding a basket of laundry. She's pointing to the right of me, specifically at the floor, and I look down and immediately have to bite my tongue to not swear in front of her. 

Another fucking puddle. The sigh I give out almost makes my chest hurt. What is up with me and puddles? Now I'm being blamed for them. Fucking great. "No, ma'am. I guess I never saw it, but it's not mine." The red haired woman puffs her cheeks at me and I lean back. She looks miffed. What the hell did I say? 

"'Ma'am'? I'm not an old woman! I'm barely twenty-five!" I'm guessing that she's sensitive about her age, in a way? She huffs through her nose and looks at me as if saying that she'll let my mistake slide just this once. Note to self: Don't call Ginger here 'ma'am'. "My name's Petra. I live in apartment 105." Her eyes look me up and down before she smiles a little, "You're in 107, aren't you?" I nod to her while folding another blanket and Petra opens a washing machine and starts to throw her laundry in. "Are you the one who marches around at night?" 

Immediately, I stop what I'm doing and look over at her, "What?" 

"Someone keeps walking around at night in the hallway of our floor and it's seriously so annoying. They're not even subtle about it." Petra huffs and practically throws a balled up t-shirt into the machine, "I mean, seriously. Don't they know how obnoxious they're being?" What I don't tell her is that I  _have_  heard the footsteps, but I just chalked it up to someone on the floor just coming home. I usually just sleep through the noise. They march right past my door for a while and I usually just fall asleep after the third or fourth pass. 

"Have you been having any leaks in your apartment lately?" The questions comes out of me before I can stop it. Well, I guess I can't really regret asking. "See, my bed was soaking wet this morning. I figured it must have been from a leak so I thought maybe other people here had the same issue?" Even though I still think it's a leak, it's weird that there wasn't a wet spot on the ceiling from the upper floor. There should have been a water stain or sign that water was dripping, but there wasn't. So...why? 

I steal a peek at Petra and she's got a thoughtful frown on her face as she thinks. "Hm... Well, I haven't had any leaks since moving here. The building shouldn't be  _that_  old, but I guess leaks could happen already." She closes the washing machine and starts turning it on, "Maybe you should call the landlord. If there's a leak in your apartment, then it should be taken care of. You don't mold growing or something, do you?" The very thought of mold forming in my place makes me shiver. 

"Gross!" 

Petra laughs at my reaction and she leans against the machine at her side, "Well, that's my point. Just get the place checked out and take care of it. But if I start seeing some leaks then I'll be sure to let you know so you can find somewhere better to live." Ha! Yeah, like I can afford that on my salary. I can barely afford this place. Hopefully, that'll change once Connie and I get this comic going. 

"Kirschstein!" Speak of the Devil. Loud and obnoxious, Connie comes back down here to the laundry room, "What the hell, man? You're taking for-fucking-ever! Take any longer and Sasha's going to eat your share." 

"Like hell she is!" Scowling, I just throw the last blanket into the basket and throw the sheets into the dryer next, "Look, I just have some sheets left. Just go upstairs and defend my food. Pretty sure that leaving her alone up there with all that take-out is probably a dumb decision, anyway." Apparently I just triggered Connie's brain into the on position because he immediately goes running back upstairs. I quickly shout before he can get too far from me, "And don't let her eat my spring rolls!" The laundry room door shuts just as I finish shouting and I hear Petra laughing behind me. I glance over my shoulder at her and she's got an amused smile on her face. My crooked smile shows itself and I turn to her, jerking my thumb over my shoulder, "'s my friend Connie." 

Petra smiles and her face seems to brighten even more, "Childhood friend?"

I can't stop my laugh this time, scratching the back of my neck, "Oh, man, I wish he was. We actually met in college." All my friends I met in college. College is the reason I'm not some lonely and bitter hermit or sitting at home in Trost and working a shitty job. 

"College?" 

Smiling, I nod at her, "Yup. We went to college together right here in Stohess." 

And just like that, Petra's smile fades a little and she looks almost concerned, "The College here? In Stohess?" My stomach feels a little heavy and I don't even know why she's so down suddenly. She looks down at the dark clothes in her basket, fidgeting with the edge of a pair of jeans, "Then...did you know about..." I wait for her to continue but she just goes quiet, and then she shakes her head, turning to the washing machine and grabbing some laundry soap, "...Nevermind." 

The mention of the college is what made her upset, and I bounce the words around in my head for a few seconds before I understand. I understand why she's upset. It's the same reason everyone in this town has been talking all day. The dryer buzzes and I open the door and start pulling out my sheets. I use the warmth to keep myself relaxed until I speak up again, "Is it...about that Bodt kid?" I hear her inhale sharply and I can tell, without looking, that I'm right. 

"...Yeah." She sounds very quiet, still bothered by the subject, "...Did you know him?" 

"...No." I never knew Marco. I didn't even know he died. I already graduated by the time he apparently showed up, but even so, I never once saw him. I don't understand how that's possible, though. I was here, yet I never saw news or heard anything about Marco Bodt, and everybody else seems to know more than I do. "Did you?" 

"Sort of." Petra's still staring at her clothes while she talks to me, and she has a small frown on her face, "I saw him around town a lot. He really loved the flower shop I work at. He transferred into Stohess College during his senior year, and he was so shy and nervous because he didn't know anybody, or even the town." Petra smiles as she talks about Marco, a soft smile, like someone who was admiring something beautiful, "He came from Jinae. Apparently, it's a small little town to the south of here, and he was so scared about moving to a bigger place like Stohess. I remember that he was stuttering the first time I talked to him when he came in to buy flowers for his mom." She laughs, cheeks turning red at the memory and I'm wondering if maybe she had a crush on this Marco guy, "He even asked me out once by buying a small bouquet of my favorite flowers and then handing them to me. He was probably planning that for days, and when he found out I was the same age as his sister and already dating someone he started apologizing left and right. And even knowing that, he still gave me the flowers and invited me for lunch. He said that he wanted me to have the flowers because they were pretty. Just like me." Petra's smile starts to drop again and she looks like something precious was just pulled out of her. Like heartbreak just hit her at 100 miles an hour. "Marco was a gentleman. He didn't deserve to die that day." 

In just a few minutes, I learned more about Marco than I probably could have learned in an entire week, and honestly, it makes my chest ache a little. Here was this kid, ready to graduate college and who was so scared of Stohess, and he's dead. He was a nice guy, probably some goody-goody, but at least he was honest with it. He sounded like the dream-child any parent would want. Educated, polite, innocent, and with plans for his future, and in one night he had it all ripped away from him. Playing with the sheets, I slowly pool them into my basket, "Do you think it was an accident...?" I ask it so quietly that I don't know if I really asked it. At the same time, I feel like a huge prick by even bringing it up. Clearly, Petra was somewhat attached to Marco, even if they weren't really close friends. When I look at her, I feel like absolute shit. Petra's eyes are watery, ready to drop tears any minute, and her hands are holding her jeans extra tight. She looks like she's about to start bawling right here and now and I'm the one that caused it. Way to go, Jean fucking Kirschstein. "Forget it. I'm sorry." I say it quickly but I know I already did some pretty bad damage to her. I quickly grab my shit and pick up my basket, "Uhm...I'll see you around." I mumble awkwardly, taking a peek at her and watching her wipe her eyes quickly, "...My name's Jean, by the way." So she knows who to blame for her crap mood later. 

When the laundry room door shuts behind me, I swear, I heard a very small and broken sob coming from inside. I'm such a piece of shit... 

Now that I have thoroughly fucked up a potential friendship with someone on my floor, I think it's time to go upstairs and rescue what food Sasha has left for me. With my laundry basket in my hands, I start walking up the stairs to the ground floor, already picturing the delicious spring rolls waiting for me, with soy sauce on the side. And those fucking cream cheese wontons, dammit. My stomach grumbles in agreement with me. Well, alright Stomach, let's get ourselves some really fucking delicious and unhealthy take-out. 

The ground floor is quiet, and the main desk is empty. Normally we have security there, somebody watching the cameras and front door. "Probably is taking a bathroom break." I swear, they should seriously consider hiring another guard. Isn't it dangerous to have just one and leave the desk unmanned whenever he has to go somewhere? I walk toward the stairs, ready to head up, but as I'm passing the front doors, I see something in the corner of my eye that makes me come to a complete stop. The main doors are entirely made up of glass so I have a full view of the street outside, the sun setting and making everything darker without its light. But that's not what I'm looking at. I'm focused on the person standing across the street. It's  _him_. 

Just like on my walk home, the same guy from the crosswalk is standing outside, still drenched and still without his shoes. He's just...standing there, next to the bus stop sign, and he's just making his own little puddle with the amount of water dripping off of him. Seriously, did he fall into a lake five seconds ago? I look around behind me, hoping the security officer is there, but nope. I'm all alone. I sigh heavily and walk to the doors, keeping my eyes on this strange guy who hasn't moved an inch. Pushing the door open, I hold it in place with my foot and lean outside, "Hey. You're going to get sick like that." Drippy over there doesn't react. He just stares at me with those brown eyes and slowly blinks. His bangs are somewhat sticking to his forehead and he's still dripping all over the ground. "Come on. I'll let you borrow a towel or something so you can dry off." Still nothing. Not even a smile. His clothes are completely soaked, and I honestly doubt that's comfortable. I give him a few seconds to answer before I try again, "Seriously, man, I know you're cold out there. Just get inside and I can help you out somehow." 

"Jean?" 

I quickly turn around as I hear Sasha's voice. She's standing by the stairs that lead to the next floor and her face expresses worry. It actually looks a little weird on her. Sasha has always been all smiles and laughter, it's rare to see a look like this on her face. 

"Jean. Who are you talking to?" She comes up to me and tries to look outside. She probably heard me shouting at Drippy. Anybody would be worried if they caught their friend shouting to the outside. 

As soon as she's next to me, I turn to point across the street, "I was just--" Drippy's gone, though. There's no sign of him. Only a stain of water on the concrete of the sidewalk where he stood. His disappearance both freaks me out and pisses me off, "He was just there." 

"Who was there?" 

"This guy! He was standing across the street and watching me and he was completely wet!" I swear, he was right there. He was there and he was staring at me and- "I saw him on my way home too. Sasha, I'm not fucking kidding, this guy was drenched in water from head to toe and he was at the crosswalk and right here, and he didn't even have shoes!" 

That last part made Sasha frown a little, one of her eyebrows raising in confusion as she crossed her arms over her chest, "No shoes? Are you for real?" 

"I know, I know, it sounds weird." It sounds completely ridiculous, but I'm not saying that to her, "But I'm being serious! There was a guy outside." Sasha doesn't change her expression or her stance and I can tell she isn't believing one word of what I'm saying. I probably sound like a loon. If I keep this up, she might think there's something wrong in my head and the last thing I need is for people to start treating me like I'm sick. I mean, who would believe a story about seeing a guy with no shoes just roaming around town? With a sigh, I shake my head and look back outside, stepping back and letting the door swing closed with a small bang, "...Nevermind." As much as it sucks to pretend like I didn't see anything, it won't do any good to keep persisting without evidence. If Drippy comes back, then I'll go up to him and ask what his problem is. For all I know, he's just some homeless kid roaming the streets and needs some help. Shoving aside my concerns, I turn to Sasha and thrust my basket of clothes at her, "So. You guys leave me any food?" 

Sometimes it's just better to pretend nothing ever happened. 

* * *

 

A low and annoyed groan comes from my throat as I slowly wake up. For a moment, I'm seriously confused as to  _why_  I'm awake, especially when I see the red numbers on my alarm clock that say  _2:15 am_. I have never woken up at 2 in the morning for anything, not even to take a piss. I glare at my clock, as if it's the reason I'm awake at this dreadful hour. And then I hear it: The footsteps. I can hear someone walking around in the hallway again. Damn these thin walls... "Who the fuck is up at 2 am?" I mumble quietly, rolling onto my back just so I can turn my glare toward the ceiling. The stupid footsteps continue, going from left and right and left and right. Maybe they'll stop in a few minutes. So I roll onto my side, curl up tight, and try and ignore the footsteps. Usually I sleep through it. Why should tonight be any different? 

_Thump..._

_Thump..._

_Thump..._

_Thump..._

_Thump..._

"God dammit!" I hiss and I throw my covers off. I don't even care if I'm cold, I need that asshole to stop walking and start going to bed. In my boxers and t-shirt with one damn missing (when the  _Hell_  did I lose my sock? I went to bed with two, did my fucking bed eat it again?), I don't bother trying to keep my steps quiet. I want that bastard to hear me coming. They woke me up at 2 in the freaking morning when I have work tomorrow. "You're about to eat shit, you son of a bitch." I growl through my gritted teeth, "Waking me up, pissing me off, and stomping around the hall." I grab the doorknob tight and wrench my door open, stepping into the hall. 

The hallway lights are a lot brighter than I expected and for a few seconds I'm a little blind. Through my painful squinting, I try to look for the little shit stain that's ruined my good night's sleep. The footsteps have completely stopped, though, and even as my eyes slowly adjusted to the lighting, I can tell there's nobody out here. It just pisses me off more. Those steps were still going even when I opened the door, so where's the bastard? He was right in front of my door and I'm definitely not close enough to the stairs for them to just run up and hide. Like an angry bull, I huff out through my nose and look left and right one more time before backing into my apartment and shutting the door. I lock it, just in case this freak decides to try and break in. 

Once inside, I start heading to bed, "Fuck..." I stop after a few steps and shiver. My apartment is fucking freezing. Did the thermostat break again? The floor feels ice cold under my sockless foot as I walk to the thermostat. I can just barely read the temperature on the screen but it's definitely not set to the temperature I'm feeling. I always keep the thing set to 76. Not too cold, not too hot. It's still set to 76 but the whole apartment feels more like it's dropped to 60 or even 50 degrees. I shiver again, my whole body trembling with one single chill. Man, I need to get back to bed. Nice warm blankets, cozy pillow, drifting back into sleep- " **SHIT**!!" Whatever plans I had for sleeping are thrown away almost as hard as my body colliding with my floor. I suppress the painful groan that almost escapes me as pain shoots through my entire body. "F-Fuuuuuck..." Is all I can say as I let myself try to recover from the impact. 

I don't question what happened. I felt it. I stepped in  _another_  stupid puddle. I stepped right into it and in my hurry to get to bed, I slipped and dropped like a sack of potatoes. "What the hell is up with these puddles?" Water every-fucking-where. I am so sick of water. Forcing myself onto my elbows, I try and look at the puddle near my feet, which is kind of stupid because too dark to really see it, "God dammit..." Have to clean it up, or else I'm going to be dealing with mold. Note to self: bitch at the landlord so they can check this whole shitty apartment for leaks. As painful as it feels to get up, I force myself to my feet, avoiding the puddle as best I can and heading for my kitchen to get a mop. "Dear God, whatever I did to make you mad, I am sorry." I mutter to myself as I pick the mop out of the corner of the kitchen and head back to living room, "When I find out where these puddles are coming from, I am gonna--" As I look up, my entire body freezes and I feel another chill hit me, one I am not happy to feel. 

I have never felt this cold or this scared in my entire life. The puddle long forgotten, I drop the mop, too focused on what I'm seeing. Even in the dark, there's enough of a glow coming in from the outside through my window to make it easy to see the figure in front of me. Someone is standing by my window, staring at me. With...big brown eyes. Big brown eyes and water dripping from his fingertips. "No fucking way..." It's all I can say as I stare at the dripping wet strange I've seen all day. How did he get in here? Why is he here? Why is he still just  _standing there_? I can't be seeing this. This can't be real. 

"Jean?" The knock on my door makes me yelp and turn in a hurry, and then I remember that I'm turning my back on someone who is  _clearly_  not normal, which makes me turn back around to face Drippy again. And he's fucking  _gone_. Again. My heart is racing a million beats a second. Where the hell did he go? Is he still here? Like a paranoid fuck, I turn in every direction, trying to see him. He's not here. My apartment isn't even big enough to hide in.  _Where is he_?! "Jean? Jean, it's Petra. Are you alright?" Petra? Damn, I must have woken her up, along with everybody else on this floor and below. I shove my paranoia and nervousness down, not wanting Petra to see how freaked out I am. Maybe she heard the footsteps though. Maybe she's seen Drippy too. 

Unlike before, I open the door more slowly this time. Petra's dressed in some loose striped PJs and a fluffy green robe which she's holding together with her hands and her hair is a little tangled in some placed. She really did just roll out of bed. Man, I am a shitty neighbor. She looks up at me in concern and I scratch the back of my neck, sighing a little, "Sorry..." I mumble to her, "Did I wake you?" No shit, Kirschstein. 

"Yeah. I heard you in the hallway and then I heard something loud fall. Are you alright?" She heard me fall and eat shit and I try not to feel embarrassed about it. I nod in response to her question and she sighs a little, probably relieved I didn't suffer any serious damage, "Well...I'm glad. I was worried about you." 

Without really thinking, I glance around the hallway and ask the question I've probably been wanting to ask someone all day, "Hey, have you seen this guy walking around? Kinda tall, dark skin, brown hair, freckles literally everywhere on his face. He's got this sort of puppy dog stare, too." I'm not sure if I should bring up the wet part or the shoeless part. After the way Sasha reacted, I think that's information that I should start keeping to myself when describing Drippy. Petra's reaction, though, looks worse than Sasha's. She looks...sad. Sad and uneasy, like she's not sure if what I said was right. 

"Jean..." Her voice shakes a little in a way that  _really_  makes me feel uncomfortable, "You..." I what? I feel so damn uncomfortable as Petra looks down at the floor for a second or two before looking back up at me, "...You said you didn't know Marco, right?" Marco? What does he have to do with this conversation? "Because, that's just what Marco looked like." I can't help the small question of  _'what?'_  from blowing past my lips, breathing out into the air. Petra's hands clutch her robe a little tighter, "Marco...Marco looked just like that." Another chill shoots through me, and I resist the shiver this time as I picture the dripping wet guy in my mind. But, surely, anybody could have those features. It's not like there's only one guy in this whole world who could ever look like that. I guess Petra thinks the same way because her expression loosens into something more relaxed and she seems to force a smile onto her face for me, "Well, maybe it was just a coincidence. After all, there's so many people in this world, right?" She suddenly perks up with a look that seems to look like she remembered something, "Oh! You know, I think you saw Izzy!" 

"Izzy?" 

"Izzy was Marco's younger brother. He looks almost  _exactly_  like Marco. I actually thought Marco had a twin when they came into the shop together one day." She laughs and smiles just at the memory and she looks so much more content just by talking about this Izzy kid, "You probably just saw him. All the Bodt siblings look alike. Freckles, dark skin, generally taller than average. Well, Marco wasn't really tall. His sister though,  _she_  was tall. Way taller than most girls." With a shake of her head, Petra gives a fond look to no one in particular and starts stepping aside, "Well...I'm glad you're alright. If you ever need anything, I'm just down the hall." 

As Petra starts walking away, I'm processing the information I was just given. Somewhere in this town is the Bodt family with a kid who looks exactly like the one I'm seeing. If it is Izzy, then something's probably bothering him. Why else would he just be...roaming around like that? Maybe losing his brother was too much and knowing that it's been a year already must be making him act out. "Hey, Petra?" I lean out of my door and wait for her to stop and glance over her shoulder at me, "Uhm... Wh-where do the Bodt's live?" Nervously tapping my fingers on the wood of my door frame, I watch Petra as she seems to attempt to read me. It must be weird for me to ask this. After all, I didn't even know them. "I-- Well, if this Izzy kid  _is_  the one I'm seeing, I just..." Don't mention the wet clothes part. Don't freak her out more. "I...want to make sure that he's okay. I mean," I pause and look down a little, not sure if what I'm going to say is right because am I lying about wanting to see Izzy or do I genuinely worry about how he is? "...It must be hard for him. Losing his brother and everything." As I force myself to look back to Petra, she has a small smile on her face, like she's proud of me for some reason. 

My neighbor keeps smiling warmly at me as she turns a little more in my direction, "I think that's a good idea. Izzy really admired Marco. If anything, you can talk to his mom and let her know that Izzy might be acting up a little..." Thinking about their mom makes me feel almost sick. What could she be feeling right now? Waking up in the morning and remembering that one of her own kids is gone. How much pain must she be in? Does she still expect to see Marco come home? Does she go into his room, expecting to find a mess but instead seeing it pristine and clean? Or is it still a mess and she just can't bring herself to fix it up? If Izzy is walking around town the way he is, then I need to see what I can do. It must be driving her insane with grief. 

"So, can I know where they live?" 

* * *

 

As soon as I wake up, I get ready to find Izzy Bodt. Petra gave me their address and street and since my shift doesn't start for a couple more hours, I figure I can just get dressed for work and go see them until I have to get back to the cafe. My bed is dry this morning, no water stains or anything. There's no puddles in my apartment, either, but I can't deny that I shiver just a little when I look toward the window where that figure was standing. I know I must have imagined that. There's no way Izzy could have sneaked into my apartment, and if he did, well, then that's just more reason to check on him.

Like always, I walk to the Bodt house. It's the one thing I really enjoy about Stohess: Despite its size, I can get from point A to point B on foot. Just another reason why I stayed, so I wouldn't have to rely on a car or use gas to get around. I either walk or take the bus, and my apartment is comfortably close to my work and the campus so I rarely need to throw the change for a bus. The Bodt's live off on Rose Street, not too far off from the local college. The flower shop wasn't far off, either, so I can understand why Marco would go there so often. It's really quiet the entire way there, people getting to work or going to class. Around this time, I see a lot of college students heading to morning classes, and I stand at the corner of the street and take a second to watch them. I remember when I would be running down the street, dressed in my pajama pants and a hoodie, since I never gave two shits about my clothes so long as I got to class on time. I wonder how things were for Marco. Did he wake up late and end up having to bolt to campus just to make it on time? Doubt it. From how Petra described him, I bet he was always up on time to have breakfast that was more than just a pop-tart and some coffee. He probably had all his shit ready by the door so he could just pick it up and get going. Marco was a good guy. He didn't deserve to die. 

The Bodt house is halfway down the street of Rose. It's a very plain house, painted a casual beige with a garage attached. The lawn is cut neat, but the rose bushes are naked, the cold weather stripping them of any life, or maybe they've just died from poor care. They have a few cement stairs that lead up to their front door and nothing else, and a window is right beside it. I see the white curtains swinging lazily inside, and there's two flower pots chilling in the sunlight, but nothing has grown in them. I'm not sure if they're protective of their lawn or not, so I walk up the driveway to get to their door and ring the doorbell. I hear the buzz inside the house and then I just step back and wait, my hands sliding into my pockets. The house isn't very fancy, but Stohess wasn't a fancy town. Big, maybe, but fancy? Not really. I don't really sure the time that I wait, but I'm pretty sure someone should have answered me by now. I'm not waking them up, am I? I quickly pull out my phone and check the time. Are most people awake by 9 a.m.? I'm cautious as I knock instead, as if knocking is more effective than a doorbell. Maybe they're not home? 

"You know it's a school day, right?" 

My heart nearly jumps into my own mouth and I turn around so fast I am amazed I don't give myself whiplash. Paranoid (as ever), I look left and right like I did in my hallway last night, but like Deja vu, there's nothing there. I  _know_  I didn't imagine that, though. I heard somebody talk to me. Somebody was behind me and talking. 

"Izzy and Michael go to school. You  _do_  know what school is, right?" This time, the voice comes from my right. I  _know_  it. I turn in the direction and see...Drippy? 

For the first time, I'm seeing Drippy standing no more than five feet away from me. Still wearing that purple shirt and black hoodie (which I can see now has a small logo of a white and orange-tinted wing and the words Jinae Volleyball on one side and the number 07 on the other). Still without shoes. And still dripping wet. Except this time, Drippy doesn't look like a sad kicked puppy. Even drenched in water, he's watching me with one eyebrow raised, like he's the confused one here. Like  _I'm_  the weird one and he's judging me. From up close, Drippy looks exactly the same age as me, with just a very small advantage in the height department. Is this seriously Marco's little brother? "Izzy...?" This is the guy (kid?) I'm looking for, right? 

Drippy looks twice as confused now, leaning away and frowning even more, "What? No, I'm not Izzy! Izzy's thirteen." Thirteen year old kids can be this tall. 

"Then...who are you?" Who is the weird guy walking around without shoes? 

Slowly, Drippy starts to smile. It looks just a little sad, and just a little amused, if that's possible. His cheeks look a lot like a chipmunk's, and the freckles cluster together as he smiles. I see a slightly chipped tooth in the front of his mouth and his teeth are just a little crowded together, some beginning to overlap the others. He gives a very quiet laugh, almost a chuckle before he puts his hands into the (wet) pockets of his hoodie, "I'm Marco. Marco Bodt." My heart stops. I swear it does. 

"Marco...? But--" There's no way that's possible. 

 

One year ago, Marco Bodt was a senior English major getting ready to graduate college. He moved to Stohess from Jinae, and he was the older brother of two boys and lived with their mom until he finished his studies. He liked flowers and frequently bought from the flower shop. He thought pretty girls deserved pretty flowers, and was nervous when put into new situations. He was scared and excited about coming to a bigger town. He made friends easily and left his own unique print on them. And he drowned in the Stohess River one night, dying alone in the cold and icy water. 

In the town of Stohess, there's a young man following me, Jean Kirschstein, around. He wears a purple shirt, a Jinae Volleyball hoodie, and baggy jeans. His shoes are missing and he's wet from head to toe. And he calls himself Marco. 

What happened to Marco Bodt?

**Author's Note:**

> The songs Jean listened to while walking home:  
> Someone Purer - Mystery Jets: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPBJPCaeda0>  
> Save Me - The Autumn Film: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vEGcTAt8kfo>
> 
> Welcome to Hell. I'm just kidding. This is a fic I've had in my head for months. I can't promise it'll be long, but it's definitely (hopefully) going to be quite a trip. A fic where Jean must figure out what happened the night Marco died, just so Marco can have some peace a year after he drowned. 
> 
> I have a tumblr (autoplay): <http://vanitas-vanilla.tumblr.com/>  
> And here's the tag on my art blog for this fic: <http://vanitas--vanilla.tumblr.com/tagged/fic:%20who%20drowned%20marco%20bodt>


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